


Left to be found

by Lengthofrope



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24039961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lengthofrope/pseuds/Lengthofrope
Summary: He can’t tell which of these are real memories and what is just a figment of his imagination. None of it makes any sense to him. Except for Yann. He can recall every single moment of that first meeting in great detail.OR. Snapshots of Lucas’ life.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Left to be found

Lucas’ earliest memory is that of meeting Yann. 

Everything that comes before it is just a blur of vivid colours and displaced images. Flashes of a small blue ball bouncing down the stairs, or bright red nails grabbing his attention from across the room. A few unsteady steps, a loss of balance, and a quiet _thud_ as he lands on his bottom. There’s a sweet vanilla scent filling his nostrils as he remembers wrapping his mother’s soft locks around his much smaller hand. He burrows his face into something smooth and warm, overwhelmed by the salty taste of his own tears. Finally, there’s the sound of gentle humming lulling him to sleep.

He can’t tell which of these are real memories and what is just a figment of his imagination. None of it makes any sense to him.

Except for Yann. He can recall every single moment of that first meeting in great detail.

Even at the age of six, Yann is already a head taller than Lucas. He is wearing a plain yellow t-shirt and jeans with a hole directly over his right knee. Lucas can see a sliver of skin peaking out from underneath the material. He finds the sight strangely captivating and keeps stealing glances at it. Yann’s forehead is glistening with sweat and there is a smudge of dirt on his cheek. His eyes are a warm brown, twinkling with laughter. He is, without a doubt, the coolest person Lucas has ever seen. 

He approaches the taller boy, aware that all the eyes in the playground are trained on him, watching his every move. He straightens his back and meets Yann’s curious gaze. They stare each other down for what feels like forever until a sly smile breaks out on Yann’s face and he asks;

“What do you want, shrimp?”

Lucas bristles at that. 

“I bet I can climb that tree,” he points at the large oak behind Yann’s back, raising his eyebrows in a clear challenge, “faster that you.” 

Yann looks over his shoulder, his smile turning into a smirk. “Oh yeah?” he sneers, “I bet you anything that you can’t.”

The playground falls silent.

Lucas turns his eyes away from Yann to take another look at the large oak. It stands tall and imposing, its leaves swaying gently in the summer breeze. Lucas swallows his apprehension down; there’s no backing out now.

“Come on then, we’ll see about that,” he says,determined, and steps around Yann’s taller frame and towards the tree. “I’ll go first.”

Yann follows him closely, as do the other kids at the playground. Lucas feels his confidence wavering slightly as he comes to a halt under the tree, which seems much taller from this angle. He glances at Yann, his gaze uncertain. Yann looks up and down the tree before turning to Lucas, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Well?” he asks, “You gonna climb it or what?”

His words have an immediate effect on Lucas. He squares his shoulders and approaches the tree. There are few thick branches at the bottom of the oak, low enough that he can reach them without a problem. He puts his hands on the lowest one and pulls himself up, then does the same with the next few branches. He can hear the other kids’ excited chatter coming from the ground and knows that he’s managed to impress them. Pride and happiness rise in his chest.

Things are going well until about halfway up. The branches are getting thinner and farther apart from each other. Lucas pauses, unsure which way to go, the wind tousling his hair. Down below him, the chatter has quieted down significantly. 

He risks a glance at the ground.

His stomach drops when he realizes how high he is, his grip on the branches tightens automatically and he leans more heavily on the bark of the tree. He can tell that Yann is watching him but he’s too far down for Lucas to be able to clearly read his expression.

Lucas gulps and raises his head, he still has a long way to the top and his hands are starting to get clammy but he can’t- won’t - back out now, it’s too important. He reaches a shaky hand towards another branch.

“Lucas!”

The yell cuts through the quiet and startles him. He can feel himself losing his balance, tilting backwards dangerously. He waves his hands frantically trying to regain it but his foot slips from underneath him, his knee hitting the branch and scraping against the rough surface as it continues its downward slide. In a last ditch effort to stop himself from falling he twists his torso to the right, throwing his arms over the branch where his foot was only a second ago. He can feel the hard surface digging into his skin as he kicks his legs, desperately trying to find purchase beneath, but to no avail. He twists his hips, using his feet to prop himself up against the bark and readjust his grip on the branch into something more firm. Satisfied that he isn’t going to fall, Lucas lets out a harsh breath of relief and looks down.

Several pairs of wide eyes are fixed on him, their faces pale and horrified. He spots Ms. Bernier among them, holding her hands over her mouth. As he sees them all standing there, mirror images of concern while Lucas’ blood is still pumping adrenaline, he does the only thing he can; he laughs. 

“What?” he yells, his voice brimming with mirth, “I’m a bit busy here!” 

The group erupts with laughter, a few of the kids cheering him on and yelling excitedly.

Ms. Bernier is decidedly not impressed. 

“Get down,” she yells, her voice cracking with emotion, “right now!”

And so he does. 

As soon as his feet hit the ground, Ms. Bernier is on him. She grabs his hands, turning them palms up and gasps softly at the bruises and scratched on his skin. “Oh Lucas,” she whispers, horrified, “what were you thinking?”

She inspects the scrape on his knee, and Lucas winces as it begins to sting, trying to push her hands away. His trousers are torn, covered in blood and dirt, and Lucas’ heart sinks when he thinks of how this will upset his mama. He doesn’t let the discomfort show and instead puffs up his chest, “I was winning a bet,” he says triumphantly. 

His proclamation stirs up another round of excited chatter among the kids. Ms. Bernier narrows her eyes at him and gets up with a frustrated sigh. She lays a hand on his shoulder, her touch gentle but insistent as she pushes him toward the daycare building. 

“Come on,” she encourages softly, “Let’s take a look at those bruises.”

The building is quiet and empty when they enter, with little sunshine finding its way in through the blinds. Itmakes Lucas feel strangely lonely. He sits on the sofa by the window while Ms. Bernier searches through the contents of the nearest cupboard. 

He looks outside, finding Yann immediately. He’s still under the tree, sitting in a huddle with other children, speaking and waving his hands in the air enthusiastically. Suddenly, he gets on his feet, throws both of his arms into the air and yells loudly, making other kids laugh. Something a lot like longing stirs inside Lucas’ chest. 

He turns his gaze away from the window to see Ms. Bernier standing right in front of him, holding a first-aid kit and watching him with a soft look in her eyes. He shifts on the sofa and looks down at his legs, his feet dangling a few good inches above the floor. 

Ms. Bernier kneels on the floor and sets the kit next to her. She opens it with quick efficiency and pulls out gauze and disinfectant. 

“Are you always this much trouble?” she asks, soaking the fabric with liquid and pressing it gently to his scraped knee. It stings. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Lucas bows his head, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment, “Sorry,” he mumbles, glancing at Ms. Bernier from under his lashes.

She laughs, “Quite the little charmer, aren’t you?” the corner of her eyes crinkle. She puts the dirty gauze aside and replaces it with a fresh one.“Hold out your hands, please.”

She cleans them thoroughly, her brow furrowed in concentration. Lucas can’t help but watch her at work. She’s a slight woman with long blond hair that cascades down her back in waves. Each time she shifts, a smell of lavender tickles his nose. She’s as beautiful and gentle as his mama. 

Finally, she releases him.

“All done,” she tells him, smiling kindly. 

He turns his gaze away and looks out of the window again. The kids are running around the playground shouting loudly, the sound of their laughter muted by the thick glass. Lucas’ eyes trail over them, searching for a familiar face, but Yann is nowhere to be found. His shoulders slump as a wave of disappointment washes over him. 

Ms.Bernier sits next to him, the couch dipping under her weight. “You know, my family moved a lot when I was younger,” she says. Lucas’ eyes snap to meet hers, “It sucks being the new kid, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

“Yann’s a good kid,” she smiles at him knowingly before standing up and stretching her arms above her head. She looks at him over her shoulder, “I think you’ve spent enough time cooped up in here; go join the others outside.”

Lucas doesn’t need to be told twice, as he rushes towards the door.

“And Lucas -“ Ms.Bernier calls out, he pauses, his hand on the handle, “- no more climbing!”

“Promise” he says, sending a bright smile her way before stepping out into the bright sun. 

A loud scream pierces the air as one of the younger boys barrels through the playground and leaps into the sandbox, tripping over his own feet and tumbling down. He stretches his hands and legs to the side and braces himself as his friends join him on the ground, sprawling themselves on top of him, creating a big human pile. Everyone around them cheers loudly. 

No one seems to notice Lucas.

His eyes well up as he tries to hold back his tears. He turns back towards the door, intent on going back inside when suddenly, he hears a familiar voice coming from the right. .

“Hey” Lucas turns around, and there’s Yann, a giant grin splitting his face, his eyes shining with joy. Lucas lifts his chin up, biting his cheek. Yann continues excitedly, ”That was SO cool!” he takes a step towards Lucas “You were like Spiderman!” 

A toothy smile threatens to break out on Lucas’ face, but he holds it in.

“Yeah?” he says instead, “I told you I could beat you”

Yann laughs loudly, grabbing Lucas’ hand and pulling him into a tight hug. Lucas stiffens, surprised by the strangely affectionate gesture. But Yann is warm, his hands gentle, and soon Lucas finds himself relaxing into the touch. Yann smells like grass and the wind, with a little bit of sweat mixed in. Lucas wraps his arms around Yann’s shoulders and squeezes gently. 

They pull aways slowly, Yann’s hand lingers at Lucas’ shoulder and he looks at him seriously, ‘Do you want to be best friends?’ he asks.

Lucas’ smile is blinding. 

  
* * *  


  
Lucas is twelve years old the first time it happens.  


It’s the middle of the night and he’s sitting on his bed, his arms wrapped around his legs, knees pressing into his chest. The room is mostly dark, illuminated only by the blue glow of the television set.

There are loud voices coming from the other part of the house, progressively rising in volume. He strains his ears, trying to listen in on the conversation, but he can only make out individual words, none of which make any sense on their own. He curls further into himself, letting his eyes drift back to the TV screen but soon realizes he has no idea what’s going on in the movie anymore. The sudden sound of shattering glass rings in his ears, followed by his mother’s sobs.

Lucas jolts to his feet, his stomach clenching painfully. 

He stands frozen in place, holding his breath when the sound of a slamming door resonates through the house. He hesitates, then takes a shaky step forward, then another, until he reaches his bedroom door and pushes it ajar. The hall is empty; He swallows hard, casting one last longing look towards his bed before leaving the room. 

The house is unusually quiet as he makes his way down the hall toward his parents’ bedroom, his heart in his throat. He reaches their door and knocks softly. When there’s no reply, he pushes it open and freezes. 

The window is wide open, letting the chilly night air in. His mama is standing in front of it, dressed only in her nightgown, her hair hanging over her shoulder in a loose braid. Both of her hands are on the windowsill grasping it tightly, her knuckles turning white. She doesn’t give any indication that she knows he’s there; her blank gaze trained on something in the distance ahead. Lucas can see her trembling from where he’s standing but she makes no move to close the window. His stomach coils on itself, blood pumping loudly in his ears. 

“Mama?” he whispers. 

She flinches as if he had shouted the words directly into her ear, then turns her head towards him slowly, her eyes unfocused. It’s as if she doesn’t really see him.

The room is freezing, making Lucas feel like he’s been plunged into icy water. Shivers wrack his body as he hugs himself, rubbing his arms in search of warmth. It snaps his mama out of whatever trance she has fallen into. She closes the window in one swift movement and gives him a tender smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“What’s the matter, baby?” She asks weakly, “can’t you sleep?”

“Are-” he starts, ignoring her question, “are you okay?” 

She doesn’t answer straight away. 

There’s a strange kind of tension between them and Lucas doesn’t understand the reason for it; doesn’t know why she’s behaving so strangely. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, peering at her from underneath his lashes. Her hair is damp and there’s a bluish tint to her lips. Her eyes are sad as she continues to look at him.

She shakes her head. “I’m fine, baby,” she says, letting out a hollow laugh. The sound of it does nothing to put Lucas at ease. “I just needed some fresh air, nothing to worry about.” 

Lucas nods, unsure, as the feeling that something isn’t right continues to weigh on him. His heart is pounding in his ears, just like it does after watching one of Yann’s scary movies. He opens his mouth to say something but no words come out. They stand there in silence, interrupted only by the distant hum of outside traffic. Lucas’ lower lip wobbles. 

Something in his mama’s face crumbles at that; she kneels on the floor and holds out her arms. “Come here, baby” she says, her voice soft. 

Lucas throws himself into her arms, burrowing his face in her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla. They sit like that for a few moments, the rise and fall of their chests syncing together. Suddenly, his mama’s breath hitches, her shoulders shaking underneath his hands. A drop of wetness falls onto his temple, sliding down his face and onto his chin.

“Why are you crying, mama?” he whispers into her neck.  
Her laboured breath turns into all out sobbing and her hold on him tightens, fingers digging into his skin in a manner verging on painful. She buries her face into his hair as she continues to tremble uncontrollably. Lucas swallows, running his hands up and down her back in a comforting gesture, his thoughts running in circles, he doesn’t know what to do.

“Lucas.” 

The sound of his father’s voice interrupts the moment. His mother stiffens before loosening her hold on Lucas; She puts her hands on his shoulders and delicately pushes him off her lap. He watches as she stands up and nears the window again and looks through the glass at the street below, her back turned to him and his father. The sight makes his blood run cold. 

“Son,” his father speaks again. 

Lucas tears his eyes away from his mama to look at him. He’s leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, watching his mother with an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes are sad, tired in a way that has nothing to do with the bags underneath them; Those have been there forever, the look is new. He sighs heavily, “it’s time for bed, son” he tells Lucas, giving him a strained smile. 

“But Mama -”

“She’s okay,” his father cuts him off sharply, then, more gently “Just a little tired, is all.”

Lucas looks at him dubiously.

“Come on,” his father steps aside, making room for him, “You have an early day tomorrow.”

With one last worried look at his mama, Lucas leaves his parents’ bedroom and returns to his own.

The TV is still on as he enters, a Coca-Cola commercial playing on the screen; It’s annoying jingle drilling into his ears. He turns it off, letting the silence wash over him. A faint beam of moonlight slips into the room through the blinds, tracing the contours of Lucas’ body, his shadow making him appear much bigger than he is.

He has never felt more insignificant than he does in that moment.

Lucas climbs into bed, wrapping the covers tightly around himself, like a small burrito. As he burrows his face into the soft material, he’s hit with the smell of his mama’s favourite detergent. His breath hitches and his eyes begin to burn. He doesn’t know why he’s so freaked out by what he saw. He curls himself into a small ball and lets the tears fall.

He cries for hours before exhaustion finally kicks in, pulling him into sleep.

  
* * *  


  
“So she was just standing there?” Yann asks around a mouthful of food, bread crumbs scattering onto his lap, “In the middle of the night?” he swallows with an audible gulp and wipes his face with the palm of his hand, leaving a suspiciously looking smudge on his cheek.  


Lucas blinks at him, “You’re disgusting,” he says, shaking his head, “Yeah, the window was wide open.” 

“Why would she do that?”

Lucas shrugs. He’s been asking himself the same question for days. He picks at his untouched sandwich for a few seconds before letting out a resigned breath and putting it back into the lunchbox. The lid closes with a satisfying _snap._

Yann raises his eyebrows at him, “you’re not gonna eat?”

“Not really hungry.” Lucas tells him.

Yann bites his lip looking at him intently, his brows furrowed. He breaks the eye contact to glance at his lap and brush the crumbs off his thighs. He squares his shoulders before meeting Lucas’ eyes again with a determined look on his face. Lucas knows what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. “You, um, you didn’t eat anything yesterday either.” 

“Well, I wasn’t hungry then either”

“Lucas- “

“Can we not?” Lucas snaps.

Yann’s mouth tightens, forming a white line and for a second Lucas is worried that he’ll keep persisting. But then he just leans back against the bench, murmuring a quiet ‘whatever’ under his nose. Lucas uncoils slightly.

Even if he wanted to talk about it, which he really doesn’t, he has no way of explaining what happened, not when he doesn’t understand it himself. He bows his head, gripping the lunchbox tightly in his hands. He can still see her standing in front of the window with that blank look on her face, her skin pale in the moonlight, making her look more like a ghost than a healthy human being. What was she thinking? Was it possible that she wanted to- Lucas shakes his head, chasing the thought away before it can fully form. 

The feeling of unease doesn’t let up, though, lodged as firmly in his stomach as it has been since that night. He can’t stand being at home anymore, where every little sound makes him nervous. 

His fists are starting to turn white from how hard he’s gripping the lunchbox. He can feel Yann shift beside him and suddenly it's pried out of his hold and set on the bench next to him. Yann leans towards Lucas and takes his hand into his own, trying to catch his eyes, “Lucas.”

“I’m scared,” Lucas blurts out and regrets it immediately, wishing he could take the words back but it’s already too late, they’re out there. He squeezes his eyes tightly before continuing, “She -” he stutters, “-she’s been acting weird for a while.” 

Yann’s eyes widen. He looks down at their joined hands and runs his thumb over Lucas’ knuckles in a gentle caress, and something twists in Lucas’ belly, sending tiny shivers up his spine. Before he can dwell on the strange sensation, Yann speaks again, “You haven’t said anything before,” his voice is quiet, his thumb continuing its soft back and forth.

Lucas shrugs, not really having an answer to that either. When it becomes clear that Yann expects him to continue, he forces himself to speak “I didn’t know what to say,” he whispers, “and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Yann’s eyes snap to Lucas’. “Listen to me,” he says firmly “there’s not a thing in this world that you can’t tell me about,” then, more urgently, “Understand?”

Lucas nods shakily. Satisfied, Yann leans back against the bench and tilts his head backwards, turning his face towards the faint winter sun, his eyes closed. “I mean it,” he speaks again, “you’re my best friend and I’m here for you, no matter what,” he says as if it is the easiest thing in the world to promise. “Whatever’s happening with your mom, we’ll deal with it together, yeah?”

“Yeah” Lucas responds, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

He gazes openly at his friend then, their hands still clasped together between them, feeling something new arise in his chest, something far less painful from the sensation he’s been carrying inside for the last few days but equally terrifying. For once, the thoughts that have been occupying Lucas’ mind come to a halt as he allows himself to be swept up by the alien feeling spreading in his chest. His eyelids grow heavy and he leans his head back, basking in the midday sun and the gentle gust of wind caressing his face. 

Before he knows it, he’s fallen asleep.

  
* * *  


  
Lucas’ father is unnaturally quiet.  


He’s sitting hunched over his plate, absentmindedly pushing the food around with his fork, pecking on it occasionally. His shoulders are tense and there’s a crease forming between his brows, as he ponders on something deeply. He hasn’t spoken to Lucas since they arrived, save for the gruff ‘what would you like, son?’ when the waitress was taking their order.

Lucas doesn’t know what he was expecting. 

He and his father have never been close, so the suggestion to eat out together came as a surprise. His father never bothered with anything like that before, always too busy with work and not even half interested in the small celebrations his mother would prepare for the three of them. He’s never tried to show up to anything nor expressed any concern over Lucas’ well-being. It is how it's always been.

And Lucas has made his peace with that. 

He _has_.

Still, he couldn’t help the tiny spark of hope in his chest when his father invited him to dinner the night before, wondering if maybe he wanted to take a shot at being an actual parent now, that they could maybe grow a little closer and be a real family for once. 

Lucas really should have known better. 

He swallows down his disappointment, his eyes trailing lazily around the room. 

The restaurant is relatively empty but it’s no surprise considering how early in the day it is. Most people are still at work. There’s a middle-aged woman sat at a neighbouring table, typing on her laptop furiously. She’s dressed in a balck turtleneck and a pair of blue jeans, red-rimmed glasses with thick lenses sit on her nose. She looks like someone straight out of those artsy movies his mama is so fond of and Lucas wonders, idly, if she’s some kind of a writer. She cocks her head, squinting at the screen and clicks her tongue in dissatisfaction. Lucas feels his lips twitch, a corner of his mouth turning upwards. 

His father clears his throat.

Lucas pulls his eyes away from the woman to meet his father’s disapproving ones. He realizes that he’s been staring and flushes with embarrassment. He bows his head down and twists his fingers nervously in his lap, bracing for the lecture.

It doesn’t come. His father continues to watch him closely, his jaw clenched, shoulders tense. Something uneasy rises in the pit of Lucas’ stomach. Finally, his father speaks. “I’m going away for a little while,” he says, taking a sip of his water, “for work.”

Lucas straightens, feeling his breath quicken, “What?” he exclaims loudly. The lady with red glasses looks at them curiously. He lowers his voice, “When?” 

His father looks thoroughly unimpressed by his outburst. “This Friday. I’ll be gone two weeks,” he says flatly. 

“Friday? That’s - that’s two days away! Y- “ Lucas inhales sharply, “you can’t go, mama, she-”

“- will be fine, Lucas,” his father cuts in, “She’s on medication.”

Lucas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you take some time off?” he asks.

His father looks at him incredulously, “You can’t be serious”

“Please!”

“I can’t just take time off whenever I please, Lucas. _Surely_ , you can understand that”

“It’s your fucking family,” Lucas snarls, throwing his hands in the air, “ _Surely_ , that’s enough of a reason to consider taking some time off from work.”

An uneasy silence falls over them after that. Lucas’ father stares at him evenly, his eyes cold and disapproving. Just like that, Lucas’ anger dissipates, a sense of dread and fear taking its place inside his chest, as a lump forms in his throat. He slumps in his seat, drawing in a long breath. “Don’t go,” he says pleadingly, “I can’t be alone with her when she’s like that. It-” he rubs at his eyes, “it’s too much.”

His father scoffs. “Well, you’re just going to have to learn to deal with it,” he says dismissively, reaching into his pocket for a few euro bills and placing them on the table for the waitress to find. He stands up, “are you done?” 

Lucas clenches his fists. “No,” he replies, glaring at the table, “I’ll see you at home.”

His father narrows his eyes. “Suit yourself.” He reaches for his coat and puts it on swiftly before turning towards Lucas once more, “I should have known better than to expect you to step up and act like a man” he says coldly. He grabs his briefcase and promptly leaves the restaurant.

As soon as he’s gone, Lucas leans on the table, hiding his face in the palms of his hands. He can feel the beginnings of a headache - a dull pressure building in his temples - and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, then pushes the feeling down.

He leaves before the waitress comes to collect their plates. 

  
* * *  


  
Yann is the only thing that feels solid amongst the chaos of Lucas’ life.  


He’s always there when Lucas needs him, grounding him with his presence as the world around them spins out of control. He knows exactly the right words to use and the right time to use them, just like he knows when it’s time to keep quiet; When talking is the last thing on Lucas’ mind. He’s there for the late-night calls and for the mornings after, when Lucas’ eyes are still red and puffy. He’s the best friend Lucas could ask for. The kind who knows him inside and out without even really trying, who helps put him at ease and forget, at least for a little while, how shitty life can be. The kind of friend that makes things easier.

Except for all the ways he makes them harder. 

Because, here’s the thing, it should be easy to call Yann a brother, but it’s not. It doesn’t feel right. Not when his smile brightens up his entire face, making the corners of his eyes crinkle in delight; Not when his laughter is so joyful and infectious, forcing the entire room to pay attention; And certainly not when he’s riding his skateboard, his graceful movements and sweat-covered skin making it impossible for Lucas to tear his eyes away. Sometimes, in the dark hours of the night he lets his thoughts float to his best friend, to the shape of his jaw and the warmth of his eyes, and for just a second, he lets himself imagine. 

He discards these thoughts as soon as they appear; Locks them away in a tiny box inside himself, never to be looked into again. 

  
* * *  


  
His father leaves on a Wednesday.  


Lucas isn’t even surprised when he arrives home from school to find a giant leather suitcase in the hall, the one his parents always took with them for their many travels. It’s well-worn, adorned with faded stickers of various sizes- mementos from all the different countries they’ve visited during their years together. 

His father clearly wasn’t expecting him back so early if the way he’s avoiding Lucas’ eyes is any indication. The house is still and quiet, his mother nowhere to be seen; Lucas wonders if she knows already, if his father even bothered to tell her at all. He drops his backpack on the floor with more force than necessary; It hits the ground with a loud thump. His father flinches but still refuses to meet his gaze. Lucas huffs out a bitter laugh, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms over his chest, anger burning hot in his veins. 

“Going somewhere?” He asks, keeping his voice light.

His father’s eyes flicker up to meet Lucas’ for a brief second before making their way down to his feet. Lucas raises his eyebrow in disbelief, guilt isn’t really his father’s thing. 

“Why didn’t you say? We could have grabbed some dinner together,” he says, with mock enthusiasm, “just like the good old times.” 

His father takes a shaky breath. “I’m leaving, Lucas,” he says to his feet, “for good.”

“Really?” Lucas’ voice is dripping with sarcasm, “you don’t say.”

His father’s head snaps up at that. He opens his mouth to say something only to close it again, at a loss of words. Uncomfortable silence falls over them but Lucas doesn’t give a shit, he has no intention of making this easy on the man. Resentment stirs within him, hot and overwhelming, he clenches his fists at his sides, feeling like smashing something. He wants to yell at his father, curse him out for turning his back on them, for abandoning Lucas’ mother when she needs him the most. 

He does none of these things, pushing the feeling down as best as he can. His father squares his shoulders, bracing for the confrontation.

“Son, it’s too much, I-” he stutters, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“And I can?” Lucas asks coldly.

His father shakes his head. “Look, it’s far more complicated than- “

“Shut up!” 

His father’s mouth snaps shut immediately, his eyes wide with surprise. Lucas can’t help but feel a small dose of perverse satisfaction at seeing him so ruffled.

“You want to leave? Leave!” he snarls, “just spare me your fucking bullshit.”

He grabs his backpack then, throwing it over his shoulder. He gives his father one last look of disdain and pushes past him towards his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

His father doesn’t seek him out. 

  
* * *  


  
There’s a slight chill in the room.  


Lucas can feel goose bumps forming on his skin and he shivers at the unpleasant sensation. He shifts on the windowsill, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself and leans his forehead on the glass windowpane. The cool surface feels good under his heated skin, helping to soothe the headache that hasn’t left him since the day before.

Yann’s sitting cross legged on the opposite end of the sill, his gaze boring into the side of Lucas’ head. He taps his fingers impatiently against his knees, most likely trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject of Lucas’ father. There’s no part of Lucas that wants to talk about it, so he keeps his own eyes averted, staring out of the window.

A loud banging noise cuts through the silence, startling them both.

Lucas hisses as his headache flares up again. Annoyed, he rubs at his temples, trying to alleviate some of the pressure. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yann reach out to him with a look of concern on his face.

The banging resumes, much louder this time, and Lucas swears he can hear someone shouting his name outside. 

_Emma_.

Yann tenses, then looks at him questioningly, “Do you want to see her?”

He doesn’t. In fact, there’s not a person in the world that Lucas would like to see less in that moment than Emma. He can’t really tell Yann that, though. Not if he wants to avoid difficult questions. He doesn’t bother answering and only shrugs his shoulders. 

Yann huffs, irritated. “Okay,” he says, putting his hand on Lucas’ arm and squeezing gently, “I’ll go talk to her.”

He leaves the room.

Finally alone, Lucas feels some of the tension drain from his body. He knows Yann means well but his presence is a constant reminder of how much things have gone to shit. How his life has been upended in a matter of minutes. He shakes his head, willing the thoughts away. There’s no use dwelling on it. 

He looks outside the window once more. He stares at their lawn, ugly and neglected, and the naked trees and bushes swaying sadly in the wind. It makes for a depressing picture. Dull and grey, utterly devoid of any features. It looks very much the way Lucas feels inside. Empty. 

He sighs deeply, his breath leaving fog on the glassy surface of the window, then fades away within seconds. Like it was never there to begin with. 

He sits like that, listening to the regular rhythm of his heartbeat, for what feels like hours when his bedroom door creaks open, snapping him out of his trance. He hears the sound of footsteps approaching before a warm presence comes to a halt by his side. Yann has returned. ‘It was Emma,’ he whispers as if Lucas doesn’t already know, “she wanted to talk to you.”

He lays his hand on Lucas’ shoulder for the second time, his touch warm and grounding. As comforting as it always is. Lucas shrugs it off and shifts away from him, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. He pretends he can’t hear Yann’s frustrated intake of breath and continues to look out of the window, watching the trees in the garden. Their branches swaying gently in the wind, from one side to another. 

There’s a part of him that wants to reach out to Yann. To grab his hand and tell him all about what he’s feeling. But Lucas knows better than that. He wants Yann to know that he can handle his shit, that he doesn’t need to be cared for. The last thing he needs is for Yann to see his mess and think their friendship isn’t worth the effort. 

That Lucas isn’t worth the effort. 

And so they stay that way for a while not saying a word. Lucas wrapped snugly in his blanket, avoiding Yann’s eyes. And Yann, tall and loyal, standing stubbornly at his side, refusing to go.

“You know she’s your friend, right?” Yann says, breaking the silence. “She’s worried about you, um…” he hesitates for just a second, shuffling his feet, “...and so am I.”

The words cause something heavy to settle behind Lucas’ sternum. He closes his eyes against the feeling, exhaling deeply. He doesn’t deserve the concern, not from Yann. Certainly not from Emma. 

Why did she come?

He thinks of their last conversation, of how defeated she sounded. Ready to change schools and flip her whole life around just because he had to go out and open up his mouth. But he didn’t think of that then. She trusted him to be her friend and he betrayed that trust out of anger and jealousy. Shame washes over him like a tidal wave. 

He feels small.

But that’s what he’s always been, he thinks, the only thing he could ever be. An angry little boy, with nothing real to offer to the world. A boy willing to hurt people who matter most to him just to make sure they won’t leave him behind when something better comes along. Because there’s always something better out there. It’s just never him. He wonders idly if this is why his father was able to leave them behind so easily, not bothering to look back once. If somehow, through all these years living together, he kept watching Lucas, only to find him lacking. 

His eyes burn. He desperately tries to blink the tears away.

Yann notices anyway.

Suddenly, he’s engulfed in his best friend’s arms. It feels good. Warm. Lucas turns his head into the embrace, burying his face in Yann’s neck and breathing him in deeply. He smells like wind and sandalwood, with a hint of cigarette smoke. His heart is beating in a steady, strong rhythm. Yann’s arms are big, his hold firm. It makes Lucas feel protected. Loved.

 _No_.

He pulls away, shaking his head. 

There are things he wants. Things he can’t have no matter how much he wishes for them. He’s learned this lesson already. His wish for a normal mother and a loving father, his hope of finding a girl that would make him want in a way he’s never wanted any girl before. None of those dreams has come true. Why would now be any different? Yann is just as out of his reach as anything that came before. There’s no point in getting lost in warm embraces and the smell of sandalwood, longing for fleeting touches that never mean what Lucas wants them to mean. Lucas has been dreaming for long enough. It’s time to wake up. 

He clears his throat. “Go home,” he says. Yann opens his mouth in protest but Lucas cuts him off before he can get a word in, “seriously - I’m fine.”

Yann frowns at him, unconvinced.

“Look,” Lucas sighs, “I was, um, I just really want to go to sleep.”

Yann shakes his head. “I can sleep over, help you, er…” his voice drifts off as he waves his hand in the general direction of Lucas’ mother’s room. 

“I’m not a baby, you know? I can handle my own goddamn mother.”

Yann holds up his hands, “that’s not what I…” he stutters, “that’s not what I meant at all. I just want to be here for you. Both of you.” 

Lucas deflates at that, “I’m going to bed, there’s no point in you staying here.” He says, calmer, then he smirks. “Unless you want to watch me sleep, like a creep.”

It does the trick. Yann’s shoulders visibly relax and he laughs softly. “Alright,” he mutters, “but I’m coming back first thing tomorrow morning.” He points a threatening finger at Lucas, “Don’t try to argue with me.” 

But Lucas doesn’t even think of arguing. Sometime during their discussion, the sun outside began to set, changing its colour into a mix of golds and reds. The sunlight falls over Yann, bathing his skin in a golden glow. He looks ethereal. Lucas’ heart clenches painfully in his chest, his breath catches in his lungs. The only thing he can do is nod his head. Satisfied with that answer, Yann smiles at him. 

As he leaves, he takes all of Lucas’ dreams with him. 

  
* * *  


  
His mother’s foot peaks out from underneath the blanket as she’s lying on the sofa, fast asleep.  


Lucas smooths his finger along the teartracks on her cheek, gently wiping the wetness away; She shifts slightly under his touch but doesn’t wake. His eyes trail over her face, her skin is littered with dark patches and there are bags underneath her eyes; She hasn’t been able to get a good night sleep in months and her exhaustion is obvious, visible in every nook of her body. Lucas grasps on her hands in a gentle hold, bringing it up to his lips and kissing her bandaged knuckles. 

_She could have really hurt herself this time, Lucas._

His father is in the next room, talking to someone on the phone; His voice loud and agitated, as if he was there, personally, to witness the carnage. His mother’s chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, a picture of serenity. Lucas feels sick to his stomach.

_You know things can’t go on like this._

Lucas gets to his feet and crosses the room. He leans against the wall and continues to watch his mother from a distance, barely recognizing her. There’s a lump raising in his throat, his heart pounding at an increasingly rapid pace. 

In the other room, his father finishes his phone call.

Panic shoots through Lucas and he staggers on his feet, his vision swimming; He can feel familiar pressure building in his temples and something inside of his snaps. He can’t do it. He has to get away. He grabs his shoes, putting them on quickly and runs out of the house, slamming the door behind him.As the cold night hits him in the face, there’s only one thought left ringing in his mind. 

He can never go back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://length-of-rope.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you [Kelli](https://gele-gordijnen.tumblr.com/) for being my beta, you're an absolute sweetheart! <3


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